To be honest… I was getting weary of pool swimming. Part of it was the combination of two 50 degree weather days in a row. I knew I was scheduled for a sea swim at the end of the week, too, and all I could do was long for the open water. I heard, over and over in my head like the mindless chant of a tuneless song, “I must go down to the sea again.”
I must go down to the sea again.
I tried not to despise this madness, but to embrace it as, simply, a yearning for spring and summer. It wasn’t out of season to dream in green. Not at all! Every time it snowed, I was grateful – it would keep the water colder longer, after all. But it was disheartening to me to be locked in my concrete box, mostly alone, in the vaulted ceiling prison, with the huge window showing me the blue sky but keeping the glass between me and my adventures.
So, when three-mile Wednesday came along, it was little surprise to me that I got in the water and felt disenchanted with the notion. I waltzed across the pool deck to my lane and slipped in and stared the 25 yard distance down.
I know I want to swim. I always love swimming! I know I love the water. I know all of that. It just… wasn’t romantic at the moment. And in my life, I make it a point not to fall out of love with anything I do. If it’s not exciting or interesting or fun or moving or challenging, then it just seems that it should be. And there isn’t any reason why it couldn’t be, now is there?
So… what do I do? Read more